The Silent Ballad
by Anki-Shai
Summary: Thranduil has done what no other Elf has done before him, Thorin has decide in his pride to ignore the signs of what really is happening between the both of rhaps, Thorin should be careful for there is only one sickness that could take an Elf's life away and for the suffering of the heart the only cure from a certain death is to leave the shores of Middle-Earth.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**Chapter Text**

"The world was fair, the mountains tall,

In Elder Days before the fall."

** - ****Extract from the Song of Durin -**

The mighty halls of Erebor were surrounded by a diminishing light. The only sounds that could be heard in the middle of the night were those of the guards at their respective posts walking left and right, mumbling conversations. The City was fast asleep as the stars in the blackened sky shine with the light of Old Days. The wind sneaking inside the mountain was cold, filled with the approaching winter.

It was this wind the one to caress the naked back of alabaster skin, still warm and glistening with the exhaustion of recent activities. King Thranduil shifted to one side, his eyes looking out of the window, a playful smile on his lips when he felt the rough contact of a growing beard against his shoulder.

"I can see the resistance of the Naugrim was not a mere myth," the Elven-King held back a moan when sharp teeth imprinted their mark on his shoulder, big strong hands moving down his side to his leg sending bolts of pleasure all through his body. He felt the tug on his thigh and suddenly he was open to whatever his lover wished to do.

Thranduil was not one to beg, but the sweet torture of fingers and mouth was driving him crazy, "My Lord seems hungry today. May I ask what has caused such fire within you?"

His only response was a low growl and this time Thranduil didn't hide the pleasure he felt. He vocalized his desire just as the one behind him entered him with the strength of his people. Thranduil's fist closed around the bed sheets and the Elven-King found himself being taken in ways he had never felt before.

"Thorin," he whispered to the night and the young Prince smirked marking the flawless skin under his hands and mouth while his hips worked in rhythm to their growing passion.

It took all of Thranduil's self-control and Thorin's stubbornness to not finish too soon. They had spent most of their night merged in their passion. Sometimes it would be Thorin the one to initiate the activities and other times it would be Thranduil the one thirsty for more. This has been a common occurrence since the Elven-King had started his new alliance with Thorin's grandfather: Thrór.

It started…well, it started like all great passions and romances start. With curiosity.

Thranduil felt drawn to the youngest heir of Durin's Folk, and the young Prince felt compelled by the beauty no other gemstone had ever equalized. It was beauty and fire what each of them looked into the other and it was this fire and beauty what would bring them pain and suffering.

"Say it," Thranduil groaned at the powerful voice near his ears, he trembled when Thorin grabbed his hardness and work it with the same passion he was thrusting into him, "I want to hear you."

Thranduil closed his eyes, panting softly, grabbing onto the bed as he tried to catch the words Thorin wanted, needed, to hear before spilling himself inside the Elf.

"Please, My King."

There was a brush of calloused thumb on top of Thranduil's leaking length and a grunt mixed with a moan from Thorin and the both of them reached completion almost at the same time.

Both of them rested in the same position, enjoying their post-coital bliss. Thranduil feeling the now familiar embrace on his heart at feeling Thorin's arms around him, knowing Thorin was still there nuzzling his neck and kissing his back, at feeling him deep inside him while they recovered.

The Elven-King had long accepted his fate and it was just a matter of time till he took the leap of faith necessary to obtain what his heart most desired. He had never felt such a fire in his heart, he had never giving its very beat to anyone before Thorin but now…Thranduil smiled, now his frustrating meetings with Thrór would finally be fruitful.

Thranduil closed his eyes and soon fell into a deep sleep like he hadn't allowed himself since his younger days.

* * *

><p>It was the laugh what surprised him the most.<p>

It brightened his whole face showing off a spark of amusement and mischief in those blue eyes. The light he carried with him tended to be brighter and warmer and Thorin felt confused because it made him feel things he couldn't quite name.

He observed with sharp eyes every gesture, every word, every single smile on the Elven-King's face, fascinated at all the emotions reflecting on the usually stoic façade. Thorin felt his fascination grow and, at the same time, a fear so unlike any other grew in the deepest part of his heart.

Both, the Dwarves and the Elves had been cursed with a life of misunderstandings that went even deeper with Thranduil's Folk. Thorin never forgot Nauglamír and Thranduil never forgot Doriath and his King.

And even, in the midst of these events the both of them found a balance to what they share. What exactly it was they shared? Thorin wouldn't know and he didn't dare to voice his questions for fear of their encounters stopping.

The Prince had possessed the Elven-King's company and body for far too long and a part of him wasn't ready to give him up. Thranduil continued speaking, his body and face relaxed, his voice narrating different stories while Thorin found himself thinking more and more about their situation.

It had been foolish what started the wondering in Thorin's heart. A glance shot by Thranduil's Captain, Galion, to the Elven-King was enough to convince Thorin he hadn't been the only one to share and taste the beauty of the Elven-King. That and the knowledge of Thranduil's son: Legolas.

Thorin thought of the nights they had shared together. How many others had Thranduil shared his bed with? Surely, the King, after so many centuries had his preferences lined up and waiting whenever Thorin was not available. To live such a long time without giving into lust and desire was something Thorin couldn't quite comprehend. Thorin himself was expected to have a taste of fair maidens and brave males before he settled down with the One.

"You look thoughtful tonight, Thorin," the melodic voice of Thranduil brought Thorin back from the dark place he had just been visiting. Thorin observed Thranduil and realized there was nothing in this Elven-King that promised fidelity or happiness. It was all about the moment, to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh and fulfil a duty as a King. After all, Elves live forever while the life of Dwarves was limited by time.

"You are leaving tomorrow," Thorin cocked his head to the side and returned his attention back to the fireplace, he never noticed the softening on Thranduil's face, or how warm those blue eyes turned.

It was as if destiny wanted them to miss the important things happening between them. Thranduil never foresaw the growing doubts and hardness inside Thorin's heart. And Thorin never noticed the gift given to him, the gift only Beren was given before him.

Once again, the curse fate of their races fell upon them and there was nothing Thorin or Thranduil could have done.

Thranduil leaned forward kissing the lines forming the strong jaw of the Dwarf. His hands caressed the hair and the nape of Thorin's neck, "Then, Prince Thorin, let's make of this night a memorable one."

* * *

><p>Months passed and with them the growing affair between King and Prince. But, ever since Thorin found himself wondering about them, the small seed of doubt and darkness had started growing in his heart.<p>

It took time for the young Prince to assume what was happening inside the walls of Wooden Realm. The dangerous part was the rumble of thunder Thorin felt in his heart when his thoughts involved Thranduil and other lovers. It confused Thorin, for his moments with Thranduil were to enjoy lust and the carnal need. Nothing more, there wasn't supposed to be emotion, there wasn't supposed to be a promise of forever.

And so, Thorin decided it was time for him to look for alternatives to warm his bed at night.

Balin would never say Thorin was an emotionless lad. But, he certainly hadn't been this moody since he was but a Dwarfling. Sometimes a shadow would cross the Prince's face and Balin could only guess what calamities were filling his mind. Some others Thorin seemed cheerful which, if Balin was honest, it was scarier than the dark moods.

But, what caught Balin by surprised was the sudden discovery of lustful needs from Thorin's part. Of course, the King and his son had been ecstatic; the both of them had thought Thorin was oddly reluctant to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh. It worried them even more Thorin was more focused on his axe and fighting abilities instead of thinking about the future of the Kingdom. This new discovery could only mean the Prince was ready to advance in his education and formation as a future heir and it was time for him to settle down.

Balin was no fool, however, and Dwalin shared his same concern about this. Of course, of all of them, Balin was the only one who knew about the torrid affair between the Elven-King and the Dwarven Prince.

"You look worried," commented Dwalin, his eyes following Thorin who had taken a young, ecstatic Dwarf behind the closest balcony.

"I am worried," replied Balin shaking his head and drowning his thoughts in the King's ale, "this is not Thorin, Dwalin. You know he would never go around…"

"Fucking everything he sees?" helped Dwalin when his brother trailed off; Balin winced at the crudeness but nodded his head. Dwalin caressed his chin nodding as well.

"You're like his shadow, Balin. Do you think he…?" Dwalin lifted an eyebrow giving Balin a meaningful look. Balin remained silent thinking, evaluating his friend, trying to discover the moment this behavior started.

But his conclusions always led him to the same person. The Elven-King seemed to have operated an enchantment Thorin himself didn't understand and Balin wasn't so sure he wanted to point out.

"I think we should have a talk with him after he finishes there," Dwalin lifted an eyebrow snorting.

"We?" Balin rolled his eyes waving his hand.

"Okay, me. I'm having a talk to him."

"Good luck then."

* * *

><p>Legolas understood too late the happiness in his father's face.<p>

He thought it derived for the new alliance he was forging with the Dwarves. Although, why would Thranduil be happy to form an alliance with them was beyond the Prince's mind. But Legolas thought it could be to how long the quarrel between their species has lasted. It would mean a good opportunity of trade and better protection from the growing darkness in the forest.

Whatever the reason was, Legolas couldn't help but laugh along with his father, enjoying the moments the both of them shared during hunting or excursions in the forest. Indeed, the power of the Elven-King of Mirkwood wasn't as great as that of the Lady of Lothlórien or even Lord Elrond in Imladris but it was enough to bring light to places where darkness had taken refuge.

Thranduil fired the arrow with the precision and the force of an expert, the arrow flew whistling in the wind until it reached its mark. There was a horrifying scream and the rest of the Elves moved forward to exterminate the last of the Orcs that had dared to enter the Elven-King's domain.

"You look energetic today, Father," Legolas tilted his head narrowing his eyes at the easy smile appearing on Thranduil's face, "in fact, you look unusually cheerful lately."

"Is it a bad thing for your father and King to be on a good mood?" Legolas smiled shaking his head.

"No, it is strange though. Your smile…I didn't remember it this bright," Thranduil snorted turning around to hide the warm of his cheeks.

"Do not get cheeky with me boy for I am still a King. Bright smile or not."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Father," Legolas frowned when he saw the Captain approaching them, "perhaps, later you can tell me what has you in such a good mood?"

"Perhaps," replied Thranduil getting off his mount and walking towards the Elf Captain.

"For now, I do feel uneasiness towards this open attack from the orcs," Thranduil stood watching as the other elves dragged the bodies' together ready to start a fire.

"It is not the first time they've done this," commented Legolas following his father's stare. Thranduil said nothing and indicated to his Captain he could start talking about his discoveries.

* * *

><p>Winter was approaching again.<p>

This time Thranduil had been invited to share some festivities of the season with King Thrór and his Kingdom. Legolas had gotten used to these strange visits to the Dwarven Kingdom, it was something the Prince didn't quite understand for he had always know of his father resentment towards the Dwarves. But something in the last two years had changed. Could it be that Thrór and Thráin were nothing like his forefathers? Legolas snorted not such a chance, he knew the both of them well enough to know greed and arrogance filled the King and ignorance and prejudice governed Thráin.

But perhaps, his father has seen something Legolas hadn't had the chance to yet. And the young Prince would forever trust in his father's judgment.

The Halls of Erebor had been decorated with gold and silver, there were opals and emeralds and all forms of fine jewelry enriching the Hall Room. As always, Thrór received Thranduil with the greatest honors announcing their growing alliance and friendship as he presented the Elven-King and his companions with a fine entertainment.

Thranduil felt, with a certain amount of embarrassment, how eager his eyes searched for the heir of Thrór and Thráin. He sat with a straight back and a mask of disinterest while sitting to the right of the King. But, as much as he searched for him, Thranduil never got to see Thorin.

"I know Elves like music," Thrór commented after the celebrations had started, the Dwarven King leaned closer to Thranduil, "perhaps this is different from the ones you're used to hear but I am sure it is going to be of your liking."

The Elven-King said nothing; he merely inclined his head with his blue eyes wandering once in a while around the room. As the music filled the halls and the echo brought powerful notes, Thranduil realized the closest companions of Thorin were already there. The only one of the group who returned his stare was Balin, son of Fundin. The Dwarf looked at him long and thoughtful before inclining his head. Thranduil realized he returned the gesture and to hide his eagerness went back to the main event.

Two hours passed and it was obvious for Thranduil Thorin would not be coming to the celebration. The Elven-King felt a shadow of disappointment in his heart and this only made him feel uneasy.

About an hour later, Thranduil couldn't hold back his question anymore. He turned to Thrór and leaned forward so the King was the only one listening to him.

"I couldn't help but notice your grandson, Prince Thorin, is not here," Thranduil remained impassive when Thrór turned to shoot him a curious glance, "I expect he is doing well? I have been hearing of some kind of sickness affecting Dwarves and Men in Esgaroth and thought…"

"Humph, Thorin is stronger than the lads that got sick," replied Thrór slightly offended, Thranduil held back the roll of his eyes but indicated the King to continue. The King's face changed and Thranduil felt his heart dropped at the leer Thrór sent his way.

Could it be he noticed?

"Oh, no, he isn't sick but he is probably enjoying some young lass or lad behind his doors," Thranduil felt numb, suddenly the warm room turned cold and the Elven-King inclined his head to stare around before returning his attention to Thrór.

"I don't think I understand…" Thranduil's face set on a stoic, yet infuriating gesture as Thrór laughed hard calling some people's attention.

"Oh, I bet you do, Elven-King!" Thrór leaned forward as if sharing a great secret, "Thorin has taken some interest in taking those he fancies with him. I have heard my grandson seems quite skillful and well-endowed for someone his age. But, then again, he is heir of the line of Durin. Of course he would be adept and well-endowed."

Thranduil hung his head to hide his feelings; he grabbed the armrest of his chair tightly and decided the King must be mistaken. That perhaps…

"You mean it is common for you to invite several partners into your bed?" Thrór sent another curious stare at Thranduil but he soon dismissed his thoughts in favor to answer the question.

"Yes, it is pretty common until we find our designed one," Thrór caressed his beard as he kept on talking never noticing the sudden changed in the Elven-King's mood, "It is actually a good time to practice and fool around. What is youth, after all, than a stage to train ourselves for the future? But, I guess Elves practice this differently, long lives can give them a different sight of things."

* * *

><p>"Where were you?" Thorin arched an eyebrow at the agitation in Balin's voice. The young Prince smirked and crossed his arms across his chest.<p>

"I was with some fine company, Balin," Balin rolled his eyes looking at both sides of the Hall making sure there was no one nearby.

"You may want to rethink these encounters of yours, Thorin. For you have an honoured guest waiting for you on the main Hall."

Balin gauged his friend's reaction; he saw the slightly twitched in those eyes, the gleaming and the tug of lips. Then, as soon as the expression had tried to take form on the Prince's face it disappeared. Thorin turned, proud and defiant, towards his best friend.

"And, what of it?" retorted Thorin icily, "it is not as if I pledge fidelity to the Elf and I am probably doing just as he does in his own home."

"Thorin, you cannot keep this up. I wasn't happy when you told me about these encounters with the Elven-King," Thorin remained immovable staring at the far wall with Balin speaking in rush whispers, "but then, I saw the changes in you and thought it could benefit you. Love…"

"Who said anything about love?" Thorin snorted, but it was the anger and disgust when he pronounced the word what caught Balin totally by surprise.

"Do not mistake lust and pleasurable times for anything involving feelings," Thorin leaned his back against the wall evading Balin's eyes, "what I had with Thranduil was nothing more than a little experiment I hope to never repeat. It was fun to have one of the proud race of the Elves submit to my every wish."

Seeing the doubtful stare on Balin's face Thorin huffed hanging his head, "did you really think I would feel anything but lust and despise the embodiment of my people's enemy?"

"He is not our enemy, Thorin. He recently became our ally," Thorin looked away and shrugged.

"It does not matter to me. I remember the stories. You should as well."

"It's been ages, Thorin," replied Balin who suddenly seemed uncomfortable, "you really never had…"

"Feelings for the Elf?" Balin nodded and Thorin snickered.

"No, never have and never will," Thorin ignored the beating of his heart, the painful oppression on his chest as he said those words, "although, I have to admit, time has given Elves the opportunity to practice things we can only imagine."

"Please, I do not need that image in my head," Thorin patted Balin's back laughing.

"Do not worry my friend. I decided a few months back this game with the Elven-King should end," Thorin smiled easily at Balin the lies only reflecting in his eyes. Balin took note of this but closed his mouth to any other comment or reply. With time and ale Thorin would finally be honest, if not with himself, at least with his friend.

"Besides, I think the Elven-King has been enjoying this as much as I do. Do you really think a King would deny himself for so long?"

Thorin and Balin resumed they walk their voices moving far away from the place they had stood moments ago. If they had taken the path to their left they would had find another corridor and there, with his back against the cold wall was Thranduil, Elven-King of Mirkwood.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_"The world is grey, the mountains old,_

_The forge's fire is ashen-cold;_

_No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:_

_The darkness dwells in Durin 's halls."_

_- **Song of Durin –**_

Thranduil didn't know how long he stood there numb, with his eyes fixated on one point on the ground. There weren't tears or displays of anger; he just stood there feeling cold with a heavy weight on his chest.

A loud bang could be heard close by, this awoke the Elven-King from his self-induce lethargy. He jumped swallowing the tears threatening to escape; straighten himself up he went to the rooms Thorin had made sure were always available for him.

Thorin strolled inside the Dining Hall, dinner was just starting and Thorin was hoping to catch up with Thranduil. But his hopes had been shattered when the Prince, Legolas, announced his father didn't feel well. Then, Thorin noticed something else, something that made the blood inside him boil with a feeling the young Dwarven prince wasn't all that comfortable with. Galion, Thranduil's Captain and personal guard, wasn't there either.

Denial was such a funny feeling, it gives will to the holder to make him believe whatever he desires.

And so, the Dwarven Prince grabbed his golden cup with more force than necessary and decided right there and there that, if Thranduil was going to ignore him, Thorin would ignore him too. Because Thorin wasn't feeling jealous, or possessive, or even broken-hearted.

The next morning though, Thorin woke up pretty early making sure he was the first one at the table. His eyes scanned the room looking around for the ethereal form of Thranduil. Dwarves started arriving filling the tables and finally, after half an hour, the Elves entered the place. However, just like the night before Thranduil wasn't with them.

But his pride and conflictive emotions didn't allow Thorin to ask the question he most desired to. The burning need inside his chest grew as Legolas started a conversation with Thrór about the subjects only the Elven-King was allowed to discuss with the Dwarven King.

Finally, after so much self-torture, Thráin asked the question Thorin needed the answer of.

"Where is the Elven-King? Twice has he denied us of his presence during meals?" Of course, Thorin would have preferred it if the tone wasn't so rude with a tinge of animosity to the question. Legolas lifted his eyes and glared at Thráin but Thrór waved a hand away making sure Thráin would remain silent afterwards.

"The young Prince has told me King Thranduil wasn't feeling well," mumbled Thrór, Thráin blinked a couple of times eying Legolas who was looking at his food.

"I thought Elves didn't get sick," blurted out Thorin, Legolas narrowed his eyes at him lifting his chin and hardening his expression.

"We don't. It does not mean that, from time to time, we don't feel tired," he replied smoothly.

Thorin watched Legolas for a long time until the Elf returned his stare. Then, Thorin looked away and started a conversation with Dwalin. Legolas went back to his food but his thoughts were with his father. The Elven-King had been strange the night before; he had been distant and rather apathetic with a faraway look on his eyes. Legolas didn't like leaving Galion with his father for the young Prince knew of Galion's affections but, with Thranduil in such a strange state, who better to guard him than one who held love for him?

Still, Legolas knew there was something else. What exactly it was? Legolas couldn't say but he had a suspicion Thorin son of Thráin knew something about it.

* * *

><p>Really, Thorin didn't even know why he cared.<p>

He had made it clear to Balin his liaison with Thranduil had been a most unfortunate, yet pleasurable, affair. It was all about pleasure, experimentation and a game; there wasn't anything serious from either of them to begin with. It shouldn't bother Thorin, but the problem was it did and this only made the young prince cranky and quieter than he normally was.

He sat restless as Thranduil entered the private studio of his grandfather, eagerly the young Dwarf searched for Thranduil's stare but the Elven-King never turned to him. However, as soon as the Elven-King entered he was followed by his son, Legolas, and his Captain, Galion. The Elf did return Thorin's stare and a small, mocking smile, formed on his lips. Thorin could do nothing but glared with anger and jealousy at the handsome Elf to Thranduil's left.

Thrór didn't ask and Thranduil never gave explanations. He was to depart and that was final. What Thrór was more interested in, however, was the price Thranduil was ready to pay for the favours the Dwarves would present the Elven-King in the near future. The King had already planned to ask for a handmade necklace, a heirloom that had belong to the fallen kingdom of Doriath and was said to have been used by their Queen.

It was also said it had been a gift from Durin the Deathless. There was no mightier price than that, to return to the rightful heirs of the line of Durin what they had once gifted.

Thranduil was reluctant and offered other articles but Thrór wouldn't budge, in the end wary and tired Thranduil conceded. This only brought shocked stares from Legolas and Galion for they knew how loved the article was. Legolas opened his mouth to protest but a look from his father stopped him. Instead, a frown of concern crossed Legolas's brow.

"Before I go," started Thranduil standing up and indicating Galion the table. The Captain moved quickly placing two set of boxes on top of the table, "I have brought gifts with me to close our dealings with words of peace and friendship."

"And we received these gifts with honour and accepting the meaning behind them," replied Thrór standing up to look closely at the boxes.

Galion cleared his throat and present two sets of weapons, an axe and a sword, both of them Elven made. The hilt of the sword was covered with red and black whereas the hilt of the axe was covered with green and silver. Galion explained to them these had been forged for the Dwarves of Nogrod but for numerous reasons they were never delivered. No one mentioned what those numerous reasons were for all of them remembered quite clearly the fall of Doriath.

Thráin sneered looking down on the sword but Thrór's eyes gleamed with admiration and acquisitiveness observing the blade made of Mithril, the hilt made of a metal he had never saw before. This was, indeed, a gift of the old days. Thorin observed the scene feeling enraged at being so easily forgotten, he fidgeted ready to intervene when Thranduil's blue eyes locked with his.

Something inside those eyes made Thorin wavered. There was sadness there; Thranduil showing him a sorrow Thorin had never seen before in those beautiful eyes.

Thranduil hesitated for a moment; he inclined his head and offered a weak smile. If circumstances hadn't been adverse and good fortune would had smiled at the Elven-King; the significance of the gift he was about to disclose would be different.

"There is something else," he said in a soft voice, he stood up placing a square box on top of the table, "I have something for Prince Thorin."

Thrór lifted an eyebrow but Thráin didn't look all that pleased. Thorin, for his part, couldn't understand the beating of his heart or the sudden heat of his cheeks. He glanced at Thranduil but the Elven-King was looking down on the box; Thorin glanced at Galion but the Elf was serious.

The Elven-King stopped Galion with a gesture of his hand and went to open the cover himself. There were several sounds of admiration, but only Legolas and Galion understood the meaning behind the gift.

"Father…" started Legolas shocked glancing at his father then at Thorin. Thranduil shoot him a warning stare before turning around.

The interior of the box was decorated with silk made of blue and silver, on top of it there rested a golden harp. The instrument was made of golden wood and silver strings, soft as wool but unbreakable like Mithril. It was larger than the ones used by the Dwarves, but it was the perfect size for Thorin to pick it up without feeling uncomfortable while playing. The borders were decorated with images of mountains and earth; when the harp sang it did so with the will and spirit of its owner. It created soft, sweet and entrancing notes placing memories of distant lands and old legends in the heads of those who heard it.

"This is, indeed, a mighty gift," murmured Thorin whilst caressing the instrument, he stood up and bowed his head, "I thank you for this gift, Elven-King of Mirkwood."

Thranduil concealed his real emotions inclining his head as well, "I am very pleased you like it."

"Perhaps," started Thrór smiling at the Elven-King, "next time, Thorin can present you with a fine song."

"Perhaps," Thranduil answered without looking at Thorin.

That night would be the last one Thranduil would ever share in Erebor for a long, long time. No one knew or suspect of the growing shadow coming from the North and so everyone enjoyed the food and music, the conversation and the rest after a long day of work.

Thranduil didn't feel any hungry; he played with the food until finally he gave up. Lifting his head he found himself looking into Thorin's eyes. This would be the last time Thranduil saw confusion and longing in Thorin's eyes. This would be the last time Thranduil would see Thorin under such a light.

If it had been fate or stubbornness, no one could tell. However, neither Thranduil nor Thorin ever voiced their thoughts, their doubts and this result fatal for the Elven-King. It would take years for Thorin to realize how much of a fool he had been.

* * *

><p>Like all stories, there seemed to be a tragedy accompanying a broken heart.<p>

It wasn't only the fact there were so many misunderstandings between them. It wouldn't be enough that silence was the downfall, or that denial had created an abysm in front of them.

The betrayal, to be complete, must be done from both parts.

Thorin would never admit out loud how hurt, broken-hearted and betrayed he felt when Thranduil glanced his way only to turn around without stretching his hand to help them. To help him.

Thorin's expression changed suddenly and his eyes reflected all the hatred, anger, resentment and betrayal he felt. And Thranduil…well, Thranduil has been suffering the reality of an unrequited love; the stare was like a knife finally penetrating his already broken heart.

"Father?" Legolas placed a hand on his father knee observing him with concern eyes. Thranduil smiled weakly at him refusing himself to look behind him.

There were so many reasons he didn't help against the Dragon. His broken heart was one of those but, beyond his personal feelings, Thranduil was still a King and his people came before from above everything else. That much Elu Thingol had taught Thranduil before the Fall of Doriath.

"Take Galion with you along with our best healers and some other Elves that can help you," the King commanded his son, "extend the help and favours of Mirkwood to the city of Dale. Help everyone you can."

Legolas glanced at his father before bowing respectfully, just as he was about to leave Thranduil's voice reached him.

"Legolas?"

"Yes?"

Thranduil hesitated and then, "If you find them, tell King Thrór my help is still available for him and his kin."

Thrór rejected the help, of course. To deeply wound in his pride by one who called himself a friend of Erebor. Thráin had not been surprised and cursed Thranduil and his people before telling Legolas his presence and help were unwelcome. But, Thorin, well Thorin made sure Galion imprinted every single word of hatred, anger and contempt he could come up with to make sure Thranduil would heard them. Each one of them.

And heard them he did.

Galion had served Thranduil before the Last Alliance of Men and Elves. He had seen the young elf, then a Prince, under the light of the moon and he had loved him. Hoping his servitude and his dedication would make the other Elf love him back, Galion set a path of perdition in front of him for Thranduil had never paid him any mind. In fact, Thranduil had never been attracted to anyone after Legolas mother died. But the young Captain wouldn't give up easily, so he continued to be faithful, to serve his King.

He had always hoped for his feelings to be returned. That was, of course, until Thranduil met Thorin.

For that very moment Galion had seen it. The devotion, the longing, the affection, the lust, the love. A love Galion saw as his but the dirty Dwarf had stolen from under his nose.

So, even though he knew Thranduil may feel pain now, Galion was sure it wouldn't last and his chance would finally come.

But the Captain of Thranduil's army never realized how deeply Thorin's words were hurting him. He didn't realize an invisible knife had already taken hold of Thranduil's heart and each word make the dagger twisted and twitched making the pain almost unbearable.

Galion left the room but Legolas entered soon after.

"Father I need to…" Legolas trailed off and soon enough he found himself embracing his father, "Father, father what is it? Tell me, please."

Thranduil didn't speak; he didn't utter a single word or made any sound. He cried, of course, but he did so silently with Legolas embracing him tightly and allowing his father's tears to bath his neck and shoulder


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Long was the way that fate them bore,

O'er stony mountains cold and grey,

Through halls of iron and darkling door,

And woods of nightshade morrowless.

The Sundering Seas between them lay…"

- **The Song of Beren and Lúthien -**

Legolas caressed his father's hair watching him sleep peacefully for the first time in three months. The young Elf frowned remembering that day and how scared he had felt when he saw blood coming from his father's chest.

He knew there was something wrong that day. Thranduil had hidden away his tears after that shameful night. He didn't speak a word and asked his son to not ask any questions. Legolas complied, though grudgingly, as his heart itching to know who was behind his father's misery; the young Prince was itching to place an arrow right through the person's eye.

"What time is it?" Legolas stopped the movements of his hand, cocking the head to the right.

"It is almost dawn."

"And yet, you are awake on your father's bed as if you were an Elfling," Legolas smiled looking down on his father's face, but the Elven-King eyes still remained tightly closed.

"You are sick," this time Thranduil did open his eyes, feeling self-conscious under Legolas stare.

"I am not sick merely injured," Legolas scowled shaking his head.

"Never before, Father, has this happened to you."

"There is always a first time for everything, my son."

Legolas opened his mouth and closed it again; he lifted his chin cocking his head to the left before letting out a soft sigh. He remembered with detail how his father had fallen off the horse, how the orcs sword had pierced through the clothing and the look of surprise on Thranduil's face.

The young Prince also remembered the tears, the lack of life…the diminishing of Mirkwood.

"Who is it, Father, the one you are trying to protect?" Legolas turned to his father and face the glare coming from him, "who is it the one who brought sorrow to your heart and is…"

Thranduil winced as he tried to sit up and Legolas was there helping but his father pushed him away gently. The Elven-King placed a hand on his son neck and smiled.

"You worry too much."

"I worry enough."

Thranduil sighed standing up feeling the weight of his world-weary soul heavier than ever. The last three months had been hell on the Elven-King; he thought against all hope the pain would lessen and the memories would face away.

It didn't happen though.

Some nights, Thranduil could feel soft lips against his skin, skilful fingers marking playful patterns along his skin. He felt lips against his, warm breath teasing him into completion while hands touched him intimately. Those nights, Thranduil would wake up with a sob untangling from his throat when he realized the reality in front of him. An empty bed for an empty heart. In those nights Thranduil's body would tingle and his heart would bleed as Thranduil remained still for the rest of the night.

There were others, though, in which Thranduil would see it. The smile, the dark eyes, the shadow of a tormentor that held a power the Elven-King had never given anyone before him. He realized how foolish he had been to judge Lady Lúthien's love for Beren the first time he heard of it. It had taken but a look to that one person for you to know it was meant to be.

Of course, in her case, Lúthien had been fortunate whereas Thranduil had been ill-fated. Suddenly, without meaning it, Thranduil started talking and with each word he felt the air leaving his lungs and new tears forming in his eyes.

"I think I noticed the change in my feelings when I saw him play with some children," Legolas heard every word while glaring at the ground, "children are in fact precious and I never thought he would be so careful with them. He was rather energetic that night."

Legolas felt a blush forming on his cheeks and a little mortified but the excess of information. He tried to overlook this due to the tone his father was using to refer to the affair.

Thranduil turned around and he soon found himself resting his weight on his son, Legolas glanced at him with worry attached to his beautiful features.

"Father, please, rest. The damn creature did a lot of damage and you…" Legolas trailed off helping his father to his bed. The Elven-King rested his head on his pillow and sent a curious glance at Legolas.

"You didn't seem to fight against the enemy or the wound."

Thranduil wanted to say to his son he would be okay, that his wound had been fools luck from the orc's part. Thranduil wanted to say to his son he would be okay but, even as he was closing his eyes and going back to the land of dreams, Thranduil knew he would be lying.

He had done the unthinkable and was paying the price.

* * *

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Thorin woke up with a start.

He felt the cold wind hit his face; he felt cold sweat rolling down his back and his chest heaving with each breath. He turned around and saw his brother and sister fast asleep, his grandfather and father already gone to wherever it was they need to be. Thorin had been left in charge of his people, of guiding them through the wild lands of Middle Earth in search of work and home.

But, for Thorin home was behind. Knowing he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep Thorin stood up and make his way to Dwalin who had his back to the camp. The Dwarf shifted to the side his eyes catching the prince; Thorin placed himself beside Dwalin looking into the dark night.

"You couldn't sleep?" Thorin shook his head crossing his arms.

"We need to move in the morning. I've heard there are many opportunities of jobs down the village to the West."

"The one on the road to Ered Luin?" Thorin nodded but Dwalin frowned, he made a sound at the back of his throat caressing his chin. "I don't trust those Rangers. Men are nothing more than trouble."

"And work. They helped us a great deal when we tried our luck on the road to Ered Mithrin," replied Thorin, Dwalin grunted in agreement but said nothing more.

In fact, so far during their exile, Thorin only felt grateful to the Dúnadan leader of the Rangers of the North. The man had come to them and greeted Thorin with his name and title, at first the Prince was wary as he had been of everyone who showed kindness. The Dwarf had learnt the hard way that kindness could be treacherous friend.

But the leader, Arathorn, had extended his friendship and his condolences. He could not promise to fight against the dragon but he did promise council and jobs for the Dwarves. The work had given Thorin and his people enough money to make it through the wild lands and the few towns they found in between. The advice was what was leading them to the West, to Ered Luin and, in the end, to the Blue Mountains. Thorin didn't like the fact he would have to deal with the Elves but Arathorn had assured him he would send word ahead of them.

'Do not let your pride shadow your common sense, Thorin son of Durin. Círdan, the leader of the people in Lindon would help you get to the Blue Mountains and, if it makes you feel better, I make sure word reaches them so everything would be ready to your arrival.'

Thorin was doubtful and he made sure the man knew it but, as he glanced back at his people and their faces, Thorin decided he could comply. That had been three days ago and now Thorin was uncertain again. He swore to himself the last thing he wanted was for an Elf's help.

"You shouldn't give it too much thought, Lad," Thorin turned to see Balin approaching him, "see it this way; it is not the Elves but the Men we're receiving help from. The Elves are just the messengers."

Thorin snorted feeling the oppression on his heart lessen at his friend's words. As long as Balin and Dwalin were beside him, Thorin knew he could lead his people to the old mines; he knew he could give them a new home. At least until the time was right and they could retake Erebor.

The morning came quickly and Durin's folk started their march again. The land in front of them seemed empty and dull, the looks they got from people they found on the road was one of mistrust and fear. There weren't many who would go near the ones who still had the shadow of the dragon in their eyes.

In all this time, Thorin never gave up. He would always march front with determination and unwavering; his head on the destination at hand always busy to stop himself for thinking about him.

However, at nights when the camp was silent and he was resting the memories would attack him with the force of a hammer hitting metal. He would remember pale, smooth skin under his fingertips; he would remember the sweet taste of Elven flesh as his mouth possessed the body under him. On those nights Thorin would wake up with his body burning with desire, but he refused to pleasure himself at the thought of his enemy.

And yet, there were other nights in which his heart longed for the Elf. He longed to see that twitch of his lips showing a rather amused smile or the clear blue of his eyes when they stared intently at the Dwarf. He missed the sound of his voice when they spoke deep into the night before or after they had shared a bed. Thorin would usually curse himself for feeling the longing in his heart, for feeling its very beat dedicated to the memory of Thranduil.

Balin had seen Thorin all this time, he had followed his friend with his eyes and had learnt to discover the ghost of the Elven-King in Thorin's behaviour. The Dwarf didn't know how to deal with the situation for he knew how deeply wounded Thorin felt in the face of the Elf's treason.

Balin knew, sooner or later, he would have to confront Thorin and make sure the Prince would stop his denial and finally accepted what his heart already knew. Perhaps, once he admitted his love and devotion, Thorin could let go and forget.

* * *

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Eight months after Smaug's attack, Thorin and his people reached the borders of Lindon and the Blue Mountains. The Blue Mountains stood proudly in front of Thorin; they were covered with the light of the sun and the colour of the sky. There were trees with soft tones of grey and brown giving the forest surrounding the mountains a pretty young and eternal appearance. The land, however, had been there even before the father of the Dwarves had come to Middle Earth.

Círdan, Lord of Lindon and the Elven Shores remembered such a time; even before the Blue Mountains were separated and the Gulf of Lhûn was created. The Lord Elf stepped aside from the tree he had been waiting at and smiled gently at Thorin. Círdan received Thorin and his people, much like he had done with their forefathers that first meeting; if you were to ask him what was different this time around, Círdan would say the way they held themselves. Thorin and his people wore haunted expressions, a shadow covering their eyes speaking of the horrors and the suffering during their exile. Their clothes were worn out and their faces showed how tired they really were.

"Hail, Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King under the Mountain," Círdan ignored the enraged stares he received from Thorin's friends or how Thorin seemed tense at hearing those words. Círdan bowed his head and with a gesture of his hand he presented the Mountain and a well-hidden road. "Welcome to Ered Luin."

"We have lost our home and Kingdom," Thorin said as a way of greeting. He glared with the fire of his people at the Elf that dared to proclaim his grandfather King after their misfortune.

Soon a group of Elves appeared right behind Círdan and the Dwarves, feeling the tension and hostility readied their weapons glaring at the beautiful people with intensity. Círdan however cocked his head to the side staring Thorin for a long time before waving his hand for his Elves to calm themselves.

"A homeless King it is still a King, as its Prince a Prince," replied the Lord Elf bowing again, "please, be at peace Prince Thorin for we have received a message from the Dúnadan and a friend of his is always welcome here."

Dwalin scowled stepping in front of Thorin, "We already know how the friends of the Elves are treated. I don't think we would like another stab on our backs."

The Elves frowned but Círdan said nothing, Thorin placed a hand on Dwalin's shoulder and moved forward.

Thorin watched Círdan taking in the unusual appearance of the Elf. He certainly wasn't like any other Elf Thorin had met before. He had a beard for starters, his face was covered by it and still it showed the beautiful features of his people. Those eyes, grey and warm, were so different for the blue ones he was so used to see in his mind. The Elf was proud, on the way he held himself in front of Thorin and his people, he never had to speak for his Elves to comply but, what really caught Thorin's attention was the light coming from him. A beautiful light that, even in its brightness, couldn't be compared to that of Thranduil's.

For the briefest moment, Thorin saw the Elf's eyebrow arched and a twitched upwards from his lips. Thorin wondered if maybe the Elf could read his thoughts but he cast aside the thought, clearing his throat to speak.

"We have a sour history with your kin, Círdan of Lindon," Thorin made sure to look into the Elf's eyes as he spoke, "however; out of the friendship and good council from Dúnadan I accept your help and thank you for it."

This caught the rest of the Dwarves by surprised but none of them dare to question Thorin's decision. If their leader could make peace with these Elves for the time being they could do so as well.

Círdan smiled softly guiding the young Prince through the path, the both of them walking ahead of the rest of the Dwarves. There was silence between them and the Elf observed with certain amusement the stares Thorin dedicated to the road and the mountain to his right.

There was nostalgia in Thorin's heart as he realized how different this forest was to the one at the feet of the Lonely Mountain. He remembered going over there when he was a Dwarfling, bow and arrow in one hand and his axe in the other. He, Balin and Dwalin would hunt or explore and, by nightfall, they would be back on their home drinking and laughing.

Thorin tore his eyes from the mountain feeling homesickness in his heart. He had wandered left and right, up and down carrying his people always forward, always looking for a place they could call home. But Erebor would always be home and maybe, someday, Thorin would be capable to return his people there. For now…

Thorin turned to see Dís scold her husband and their brother. She hit the both of them huffing and gesturing in Khuzdul and a soft smile appeared on Thorin's face. Maybe they couldn't call Erebor 'home' just yet and that's okay; he needed to find a place for his future nephew or niece, for all of those that kept on following even after his father and grandfather left on a secret mission.

For now, he would look for a place they could establish and started anew.

Círdan chuckled shaking his head, "It is indeed an odd occurrence to see a Dwarven woman pregnant."

Thorin frowned and the Elf tilted his head, "Forgive me, for it is been a while since we have such a miracle in the midst of these lands. And your sister seemed quite energetic even for someone in her state."

"We are more resistant than the Elves or Men," grumbled Thorin, "and Dís is from the race of Durin, of course she is energetic, those fools should have never mentioned to her to stop helping around and sit down and rest."

Thorin eyed Círdan who led him through a small tunnel, this Elf was strange. Thorin didn't know what to make out of him but his thoughts were soon forgotten when his eyes fell upon a beautiful sight.

The city was a work of the Old Days; it shined under the light of the sun as the white marble stone reflected the light from above. The city was filled with trees and houses, all of them made in combination with stone and wood. White, silver and gold were the preferred colours for the decoration of the buildings and the roads. And there, beyond the city rested three big ships.

Thorin had never been near the coast, but he had seen boats before. These ones looked nothing like the ones made in Dale. They were made of white and blue, some of them had the form of a swan or a fierce face representing some kind of fish. Lifting his head to the sky the smell of salt in the air reached Thorin's nostrils, he opened his eyes and there in the blue sky he saw the seagulls.

"Merciful Mahal…" Thorin heard his sister behind him and some Dwarves were murmuring and pointing at the city.

"This is Mithlond, my city and the last refuge for those who seek peace and rest," said Círdan looking down to Thorin, "this is also the last Elvish port where my people can come and leave this land when their soul and heart had been burden with grief and death is near them, or tiredness of this world finally reaches them."

Thorin eyed the Shipwright with curiosity, he went back to look at the far away ships before speaking.

"I didn't know Elves can get tired. Or feel grief and the pain of dead," mumbled Thorin with his mind and heart firmly place on Thranduil's cold demeanour and then the sudden 'tiredness' he claimed on his last visit to Erebor.

Círdan caressed his beard sighing, "Everything has its time to live or die. However, Elves were made to endure time but not to endure the pain someone can leave in our heart or the weariness one felt after so many years of seeing the changing land."

Seeing the look of scepticism from Thorin, Círdan smiled gently at the Prince, "Never underestimate the fragility of an Elf's heart, Thorin son of Thráin. Our hearts can be broken if the right person does it and after such an act there is almost not hope for us to repair what has been vanquished."

"Humph, you must forgive me for I have known a couple of Elves that probably don't even have a heart to break."

Before Círdan could say anything else Thorin turned around and left. The Shipwright watched the Dwarf for a long time before shaking his head with a sad expression on his face.

Thorin pretended to listen as the Elves signalled them to a small plain right outside the city where they could rest and camp until they felt it necessary. The Prince mind, however, was far away in the depths of Mirkwood. Why did it hurt so much to think Thranduil was a heartless bastard? Why did Thorin suddenly feel this pain to the thought that maybe Thranduil had just played with him?

The following days were a discovery for the Dwarves. The city was not only filled with Elves but Men and other Dwarves had many dealings inside the city. Dwarves of fewer lineages would usually deal with what they obtained in the mines, or with the toys they fabricated to exchange them for food or other necessities. The men would usually come to this place as fishermen or traders for nearby towns coming from a long walk and one or another adventure.

For Thorin these Dwarves were a new discovery and he tried to speak with them for as long as he could. He discovered many of them knew already about the dragon, some were wary for new people could mean less work and less pay. For others, this was fortune finally smiling at them for these people; these heirs of Durin could help them rebuild the mines of Ered Luin.

Thorin didn't dare to confirm or deny these claims but his people was already murmuring about it and the young Prince was thinking this could be, just as Arathorn had said, a good starting point.

It occurred one day, his father and grandfather arrived in the midst of a great celebration. The people around them were happy to see their King and his son arriving; finally, to the place their Prince had led them. There was drink and music and both took the opportunity to retire themselves to their private tent and have a council with Thorin.

"You have done an excellent job leading our people, Thorin," said his grandfather while drinking ale, there was tiredness and something else in his grandfather's voice, "we've been following you close behind and I have to say I'm impressed."

Thorin felt a bubble of satisfaction and pride grow in his chest, his father turned to him smiling at his son.

"You will make a fine King someday."

"I hope it is a faraway day, Father. The people still need you and the King to lead them," replied Thorin. Thráin and Thrór looked at each other before turning to Thorin.

"This wasn't easy but it could have been easier if you two were with us. Tell me, where were you?"

Thrór and Thráin shared another looked before Thrór nodded his head. Thráin looked around as if making sure there was no one listening to them.

"We were meeting with the other Seven Families," revealed Thrór, Thorin lifted his eyebrows hope shining in his eyes. This didn't last though for his grandfather's next words brought rage to the Prince.

"We spoke and ask for help but we were denied."

"What?! Why?" Thorin all but screamed, "Aren't we family? Aren't we kin? Why are they abandoning us?!"

Thráin sighed shaking his head, "They are not ready to sacrifice the fragile peace on their homes for a lost cause. The dragon is powerful, Thorin, and we do not possess the same weapons or the same art our forefathers had with them."

"They won't come and won't help in any way," continued Thrór, "we are on our own."

Later that same night, after his grandfather and his father had gone to sleep Thorin walked away from their camp. He found a secluded spot on a hill overlooking the Elvish city, his eyes search the coast and observed the darkened water as the sound of the sea reached his ears.

Thorin rested his back against the stone and closed his eyes. As soon as he did he remembered…a night much like this one, a soft melodic laugh filling his senses with playful blue eyes staring into his. Thranduil had been particularly mischievous that day and Thorin couldn't help but wish for more. The Elven-King had then spoken about his adventures as a child; he spoke of friends and fair maidens, of times of peace. Thorin loved hearing the soft voice of the Elven-King, relaxed and so devoid of the coldness it usually held.

Thranduil had then sealed the night with a very passionate kiss, he had worship quite literally Thorin's body that night. It had been different and the Prince couldn't bring himself to look at Thranduil the next day without feeling a blush crept up his cheeks at the memory.

Thorin opened his eyes and growled. Not even here did the damned Elf left him alone. Why? Why couldn't Thorin stop think and desiring him?

* * *

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The process was slow, almost unnoticeable.

It started with little things like lack of appetite; Thranduil would usually enjoy the different varieties of food at his table. He would eat of course, for those prying eyes that would watch his every move but, when he was sure no one was looking, he would place the food back on the plate and retired it from his sight.

But lack of appetite was just the beginning.

Legolas watched the light on his father's being diminished day by day. Some days it would be bright again and a smile would appear on his father's face just to be replaced by the memory of an old sorrow.

He didn't laugh anymore and his smiles seemed forced and pained. But, the curious thing about Thranduil was how well he did play the part of a happy King. He would speak and pretend to enjoy the festivities and, when no one was looking, he would leave and retire to his own quarters.

After the Orc incident Legolas was scared. This wasn't his father! This creature dying slowly and welcoming death was not the Elven-King of Mirkwood and, not for the first time, Legolas wished to know the name of the guilty person who had shattered his father in such a way.

"Tell me, how was the hunting?" Legolas turned to his father who was sitting with his back resting on a tree, the water of the fountain caressing the fingertips of the Elven-King. From where Legolas was standing his father looked tired, wary and old.

Legolas face softened and he moved to sit next to his father and proceed to tell him all about the hunting.

Thranduil watched his son narrated with passion every single aspect of the chase, the vitality and the soft smile there was enough to make Thranduil smiled back. If he were honest with himself, after almost two years, Thranduil thought his heart would be cured. He thought, perhaps even hope, his feelings for Thorin were nothing buy a mere infatuation and not the love he knew he felt (feels) for the Dwarf.

But now, Thranduil knew the truth and he realized he couldn't remain any longer on these lands for he could taste his diminishing with each passing day. He felt weak and tired almost every day, his lack of appetite was followed by a lack of sleep.

As if that wasn't enough he was constantly overwhelmed with visions of Thorin. Looking around, Thranduil regretted never bringing Thorin to his palace; he would have showed the Dwarf this spot perhaps even let Thorin have him in the privacy of his garden.

"What do you think, Father?" Thranduil cocked his head and fixated his eyes on Legolas.

"I think you will make a magnificent King," Legolas frowned blinking slowly but his father merely smiled at him, "and, that you knew Galion was going to be scared when he realized he lost you."

Legolas chuckled shrugging his shoulders innocently, "Why do you torment him so much?"

Legolas frowned confused narrowing his eyes at his father, "You don't know?"

Thranduil raised a single eyebrow, "He is a fine Captain and has been under my service for a very long time."

"He fancies you," Thranduil winced shooting a glare to his son, Legolas sniggered shaking his head.

"I do not think of him that way."

"I know. You love someone else," suddenly whatever cheer he had brought Thranduil left the Elven-King's face and was replaced by the same haunted look Thranduil only allowed in the solitude of his room.

"I'm sorry I didn't…"

"Yes, I love someone else," Legolas sighed grabbing his father's hand.

"Won't you share his name with me? I promise to not harm him for making you suffer like this."

Thranduil contemplated his son, he imagined his reaction if he ever found about Thorin and their affair on all those trips to Erebor.

"Tell me, Legolas, what do you think of our trading business with Lake Town?" Legolas blinked at the sudden change of topic and the strange topic Thranduil chose. Usually, Legolas would only heard without participating in any decision or just be out doing whatever he pleased when his father would work on the logistics of ruling the realm.

Legolas thought about what he knew about the trading business, he eyed his father who stared at him calmly. Then, the Elven Prince started talking sharing his opinion about the relationship between Mirkwood and Lake Town.

* * *

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That night Thranduil rested his forehead against the cold stone of his walls. He felt feverish; his throat was sore and his limbs felt heavy. Legolas had answered most of the questions satisfactorily; he knew the basics of how business worked and how the protection of Mirkwood was done.

Still, Legolas was too young to be King, and he was even more inexperienced to work with certain topics. It wouldn't be easy but Thranduil promised himself to train Legolas at the best of his capabilities before leaving for the Grey Havens.


End file.
